Why The Driskill Hotel is awesome

I wish that I could have spent more time at this iconic Austin hotel. It really is a gem and deserving of a visit. It's on the expensive side, which is why I only have a small glimpse inside the hotel. One day, I'll be able to write about a real overnight visit and report on the ghosts that supposedly inhabit the rooms and hallways of this gorgeous hotel. It's been around since 1886, so it's been the site of many historic events. According to the hotel's website, LBJ awaited his vice-presidential election returns there.

Unfortunately, it was very crowded at the time so the only half-decent picture I could pull off was this one:

How many hotel ceilings look like this?

Hopefully my next trip will yield more than a picture of the ceiling. 

Austin: The Weird and the Wonderful

Anyone who has traveled to Austin can testify to the fact that it is a different realm from most towns, especially most Texas towns. Weirdness is just expected when you travel to the capital of Texas. Aside from some of the best food around and people-watching galore, you can find enough there to make up an Austin-centric bucket list. I welcome any chance to go to Austin and had such an opportunity over the weekend.

I can't think of a more appropriate locale for a Museum of the Weird. Where else can you see the contents of an actual cow's stomach and the back door of an apartment that Johnny Depp lived in under the same roof? Apparently, it was a brief stay during the filming of What's Eating Gilbert Grape. And this is according to the guide, whose credibility I won't comment on. A check of IMDB did confirm that the movie was filmed in the area.

The back door now looks like this:

And all of this came out of a cow's gut:

It's true that they eat anything and everything. Really makes me question the sanctity of the hamburger.

That's all for now. I was going to post about the Driskill Hotel, but that place is worthy of it's own post. I'll get to that tomorrow.

Final ramblings of an 8th grade misfit

If there's anything I've learned from looking back at my old journal, it's that I was as much of a weirdo back then as I am now. Also, the entries inexplicably stop in January of 1988 and I'm not sure why. The most likely scenario is that I lost it and had to start over in a new spiral. Anyway, here's a collection of the rest of what must have been a miserable year in middle school.

10-7-87
the left side of the room is noisier than the right side because the people on the left side just don't know how to shut up. There are also a bunch of preps over there who talk and talk and talk.

10-16-87
We need a dress code so nobody will look indecent when we have visitors.

11-12-87
No one takes free writing seriously because no one likes to do free writing.

1-5-88
For Christmas vacation we went to the Omni Theatre with my grandparents & parents to see "The Grand Canyon." I was also thankful I didn't have to go to school.

1-8-88
During those snowdays, I slept late, watched movies, read, and was glad that I wasn't in school.

That's all I'm willing to share. The rest is beyond words embarrassing.

So the pretty yellow fish asked the crawfish out on a date and...

Things did not work out very well for the fish. Murdered in cold blood by a crawfish rescued from a crawfish boil. You'd think he'd be friendlier than this. This scene played out in our aquarium earlier today and all I could think was that as bad a day as anyone could have, it couldn't be worse than this. I can't even classify this as one of those circle of life types of things because the crawfish didn't even eat the poor thing. Cold-blooded murder and execution of this monster by boiling is all I have to say. The evidence is rock solid.

Why novelists should enter the BlueCat Screenplay Competition

Once upon a time, I wanted to be a screenwriter. I'm not sure why I thought a script was the best medium to tell my story. Scripts are on a different planet from novels in the storytelling universe. It's okay to offer up details and use lengthy prose if it serves your novel well. In contrast, screenplays are basically blueprints for movies. Details and prose may make it difficult to stay at 120 pages or less, which is the industry standard.

That is not to say that you shouldn't write a screenplay. On the contrary, it could change your life. A couple of years ago when I entered my script Miracle at Santa Anita into the BlueCat Screenplay Competition. For a $60 entry fee, you receive not just one, but two written analyses. You even have the opportunity to rewrite the script and resubmit it for a reduced fee. Each write-up is a very thorough assessment of your story and what its strengths and weaknesses are. My weakness was that my prose was too "novelistic," which I didn't take as an insult. I fleshed the characters out more and wrote a novel using BlueCat's feedback as a tool.

Gordy Hoffman founded BlueCat back in 1998, and since then it has grown into a one of the most recognized screenwriting competitions in the world with a community of over 13,000 writers. Past participants have gone on to secure industry deals and recognition. Aaron Guzikowski was a finalist in the 2005 competition with his script Prisoners. That script went thorough all the Hollywood channels and is set to come out in September with Hugh Jackman and Jake Gyllenhaal in the starring roles.

If I haven't already gotten my point across, I'm just going to say BlueCat is awesome for writers, so JUST DO IT.

Go to http://www.bluecatscreenplay.com/ for more information.

From character bio to short story

I was never a big believer in writing out character biographies until I received feedback from an editor about a character who just popped up in my novel for no apparent reason. This Marty character probably needed to serve some purpose and I just threw her in to see what would stick. My editor was right and that character now has more of a backstory that explains her presence. My biographical experiment turned into a short story about the main female character in the novel. Now Marty has an explanation, even if it's within the context of a primary character's backstory.

You can read the entire short story here for 2.99  http://www.scribd.com/doc/155496659/Hannah-Strong

If you have a Kindle or Kindle app, download it from http://www.amazon.com/Hannah-Strong-ebook/dp/B00DUFQZUG/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1374246861&sr=8-1&keywords=hannah+strong

Both the Prologue and Chapter 1 of the novel Miracle at Santa Anita are available to read for free on scribd.

More Ramblings of an 8th Grade Misfit

I still cringe when I read what my 13 year old mind produced at the time. However, one cannot be a writer without sharing their writing, no matter how abysmal said writing might seem.

9-22-87

Why do we need English?
We need English to know adverbs, prepositions, adjectives, nouns, punctuation, capitalization, and all of that stuff. We also need English to know how to write essays, sentences, and book reports.


9-23-87

Why are some school rules unpopular?
Some school rules are unpopular because they don't let you do things like wear shorts, or chew gum, or have parties.

10-1-87
If I could be 1 star, I would be Molly Ringwald and I'm not sure why.

My present day self wants to time travel back to 1987 and school my younger self on a few things. STUFF? Really?  When I was a teacher, I tried to dissuade as many kids from using that word as possible. I probably haven't worn shorts since 1987 and Molly Ringwald is AWESOME and an author now to boot. I should have written something in that entry about The Breakfast Club because it is one of the best movies ever made. RIP John Hughes :(

Miracle at Santa Anita - Chapter 1 Excerpt

Here is a snapshot of the novel that I started in 2006. The rest of the chapter can be accessed under http://www.scribd.com/doc/152187610/Miracle-at-Santa-Anita-Chapter-1

Justin Briggs took a long breath and stared at the blank white wall, wishing he were anywhere else as long as it meant he could have Crown with a shot of Coke and a bowl of salted peanuts. The four hours of sleep last night hadn't done much to quell the throbbing inside his brain or erase the dark circles under his eyes. Four hours actually wasn't too bad for him. He couldn't remember the last time he slept longer than that.

"Are you alright?" asked Shelia the substance abuse counselor. 

Another version of him might have found her light brown corkscrew curled hair and golden flecked green eyes attractive. Not today though. For one thing, she knew more about him than he ever wanted anyone to know. For another, her heavy Texan drawl grated on his nerves, what little were left of them anyway. He never understood how some people could put out a thick accent and others like him had no discernible dialect.

"Sorry, I was just thinking," he said, hoping she wouldn't press him for details. His mother was supposed to be there for a session and she was going on twenty minutes late. 

Ramblings of an 8th Grade Misfit Part II

Cannot believe how out of touch with reality I was back then. My teachers' only complaint about me ever was that the daydreaming. That hasn't really changed, but at least my dreams are a little more grounded in reality.

October 2, 1987

In ten years I think I will be in England or Australia in some international horse competition competing on the United States Equestrian Team.


So...they didn't teach commas or punctuation until 9th grade maybe?  Okay, those teachers were right about my problem. Today, it's just called having your head up your ass. Looking at it through a different lens, I am reminded just how early my infatuation with horses started.

Miracle at Santa Anita (Excerpt)

Below is an excerpt from the prologue of my soon to be published novel. The entire passage can be accessed at http://www.scribd.com/doc/152177886/Miracle-at-Santa-Anita-Prologue

October 30, 1963

Hannah traced a figure eight in the dust with her black patent shoes as she sat in the swing. People filed in and out of the house, some with food and others with flowers and bottles of liquor. They gave her sympathetic looks from a distance. No one wanted to smother her. Like her mother Carolyn, she possessed a fierce independence. Unlike her mother, she could take a deep breath and pretend those people were stick figures.

The navy blue dress was not her choice. She wanted the cream colored dress her mother bought for her on their trip to Bloomingdales a month ago. The tags were still attached. Her aunt believed navy to be more appropriate for a funeral. She didn’t know how much Carolyn loved the new dress. She stiffened when she recalled her aunt Jane’s hostility.

“Why aren’t you crying?” Jane asked, dabbing her eyes between short sips of wine.

“I’m always crying, whether you can see it or not,” said Hannah.

Jane grabbed the entire bottle of wine and said, “There’s something really wrong with you” before retreating to the patio.

Hannah clenched teeth when she thought about her drunken aunt. A cab arrived and a dark-headed man wearing a suit and aviator sunglasses emerged. He corralled a little girl with auburn tresses over to Hannah. She climbed into the swing next to her. “Daddy, push me,” she pleaded. He pushed her until she was able to propel herself into the sky. Hannah yearned for that kind of innocence.